The sky cleared to an infinite blue. Rain, when it fell, was diamond bright from clouds as pale as wood smoke. As the Thunderfalls lost their fury, they became sheathed in rainbows. The days sank into a pregnant murmuring in which, stealthily, the world came back to life. Even the ridges of earth that were all that was left upon the scoured rock of the clearing began to uncurl ferns. With his back to the Isle of
Flies, in the clean sunlight, Carnelian found it hard to deny hope and a fragile joy. He summoned Kor and had her bring the sartlar blinking up from their caves and begin the vast ' labour of lifting the Ladder from the chasm floor. He and Kor together supervised the lowering of the first sartlar down into the chasm. Soon they were drawing the Ladder up from where it had fallen, unrolling it up the cliff face, pegging it with new posts they carved from the fallen baobabs.
The busy rhythm of their lives allowed them momentarily to forget the Isle of Flies. It was an illusory reprieve. Every twenty days or so, convoys of Plainsmen would appear with supplies. Carnelian's men would welcome them up onto the knoll and there the visitors would tell of the battles they had fought; of the tribes they had conquered. Carnelian would sit among them concealed, his back to the sun so as to hide his alien green eyes. The visitors would speak of the Master as if he were a god. The following day, they would leave with the slabs of salt the sartlar brought up from the caves. Sickly anticipation would come as a fever in the succeeding days. When the next batch of captives were spotted coming down from the Earthsky, people became busy with the tasks they had reserved for the occasion. None would look up in case they saw the new victims being ferried across to the Isle of Flies. Carnelian might have shared their cowardice, except that Poppy seemed compelled to witness the whole sickening business and he could not bear that she should do so alone. In the nights that would follow, unable to sleep, it became their habit to join the men around the fire trying to drown out the screaming with their talk.
Marula poured down the escarpment following a host of riders. The rumble, their slipping movement, recalled for Carnelian the night of the landslide. In their midst, any of the shrouded Oracles might have been the Master.
Carnelian turned to Poppy somewhere in the darkness behind him. 'Our people have returned.'
She gave no reply, though he knew she was there. He looked down again from their tree at where the massed aquar were sinking into their own dust. He would have to go and meet the host, however reluctant he might be to see Osidian.
'I'll return as soon as I can,' he said over his shoulder and then descended to the ground.
His appearance among his Plainsmen produced a clamour as they asked him what they should do. He shook his head, watching the black tide breaking against the baobab wall. One of the shrouded figures broke through, pulling behind him a ragged entourage. Carnelian recognized it was Osidian by his rangy stride, and had to move sideways to keep him in sight as he wove up through the trees.
'My Lord,' Carnelian said when Osidian was almost upon him.
'Carnelian,' said Osidian, his face wholly concealed in the shadow of his uba.
Carnelian noticed for the first time the tall man coming up behind him. The curled hair told him it was Fern, though it was difficult to see him in the man looking at him with a white face. As their eyes met, Carnelian became almost distraught enough to ask Fern if that covering of ash meant that he had become a disciple of the Master.
'I would speak to you, my Lord,' Osidian said.
Confronted with the menace of his voice, his great height, the Master drove thoughts of Fern from Carnelian's mind.
'Here?'
'Anywhere else but here.'
Carnelian looked up at his tree and remembered Poppy. He feared the consequences for her if she and Osidian should meet.
Osidian cut through Carnelian's indecision. 'We'll walk together in the baobab forest.'
He turned to Fern. 'Make sure no one follows us.'
Carnelian sensed that Fern was making an effort not to look at him. His friend bowed his head.
'As you command, Master.'
Carnelian and Osidian stood among the baobabs alone. Carnelian looked back the way they had come. Across the bare rock of the clearing, the knoll appeared to be a many-masted ship, becalmed. 'Come,' said Osidian.
His gentle tone made Carnelian feel more uneasy than if Osidian had used his customary, imperious manner.
'Are you not afraid to be with me alone?'
'I have made the Ochre the hated masters of more than thirty tribes. I do not believe you would threaten their only protector.'
Osidian's sadness produced in Carnelian something like shame. They walked on, Osidian looking blindly before him, Carnelian reluctantly crushing the reborn green spirals of the ferns beneath his feet. As they penetrated deeper into the forest, brooding baobabs rose ever more massive on either hand. Glancing up, Carnelian expected to see a face in the wood, but the trunk was smooth right up to the branches that held a bowl of blue sky.
Carnelian spoke to dispel the smothering silence. 'Why have you returned?'
Osidian sighed. 'My host is grown weary of conquests.'
'And bloodshed?'
Osidian glanced at him but made no answer, instead leading them into the cool shadow of a baobab.
Their edge is blunted, I will resharpen it by letting them return to their homes.'
'I see,' said Carnelian, unable to grasp the nature of Osidian's mood.
Unwinding his uba, Osidian revealed a face thinner than Carnelian remembered. The green eyes were seeing him but there was something distracting them, a haunting presence of pain.
'You are changed, my Lord.'
Osidian smiled bleakly. 'All the world is changed.'
Carnelian.registered Osidian's vulnerability with disbelief. 'I had thought everything was progressing as you would wish.'
'All moves according to my will, but...'
Carnelian waited, searching Osidian's face. In some ways it was a stranger's but in the eyes there stirred something of the boy in the Yden.
Osidian looked deep into Carnelian. 'I've lost faith in my destiny and without it I am empty.'
Carnelian's body began responding to the plea in Osidian's voice and eyes, but when Osidian made to embrace him, he recoiled. He expected rage but Osidian merely dropped his arms and sank to the ground. When he looked up his face was lined with misery.
'Will you at least stay beside me tonight?'
In spite of everything, Carnelian's heart could not refuse him.
They lay on their backs in a hollow between the roots of a baobab, watching clouds flow westwards. Osidian began to speak in Vulgate.
'My faith has grown weaker than Morunasa's, though I'm certain he worships the same god as I. Without faith there's no certainty; without certainty, one is enslaved by doubt.'
Carnelian propped himself up on his elbow. 'What is it that you doubt?'
Osidian frowned. That I can defeat the legions with a rabble of savages.'
Carnelian denied himself the hope of reprieve there was in that. 'Is that all?'
Osidian's frown deepened. 'I have been too long in the company of barbarians. My blood no longer burns.' He grew sad. *Sometimes, I feel pity.'
Shame made Osidian beautiful. Carnelian ached for him, but he would rather cut off his arm than reach out to him.
Osidian pierced Carnelian with his eyes. 'Have you felt how much the Maruli is with his god?'
Carnelian was struggling for an answer when he saw Osidian's eyes had gone opaque. Pain suffused into his face.
'I need that certainty. I must know what he knows. I must feel what he has felt. I must hear the Darkness-under-the-Trees speak.'
'What are you talking about?'
‘I intend to submit myself to the ritual of initiation of an Oracle.'
Carnelian jerked to his feet. He paced away, then came back to glare down at Osidian. 'Have you lost your mind?' 'Haven't you been listening?'
Carnelian dropped his head, e
xasperated. 'You came to tell me this?'
'I came to prepare you.'
'For what?'
'My possible death.'
Carnelian slumped to the earth. He had spent so much time desiring Osidian dead and now the thought filled him with nothing but dread. 'What does this initiation involve?'
Carnelian saw how pale Osidian had become. His head was shaking as if he were seeing something too horrible to describe. His eyes closed.
Carnelian could not help fearing for him. 'What is it you're going to allow them to do to you?'
Osidian's eyes widened like a child's. 'All you need know is that I may die.'
Carnelian resisted an urge to violence.
'If on the twelfth day, I've not returned, you must go back to Osrakum. It won't be safe for you here.'
'Oh, it's as simple as that, is it? You die and then I'll just saunter back to Osrakum.'
Osidian's shoulders slumped. He raised his eyebrows and gazed at the ground. 'I don't know why I'm surprised. If you insist on not returning, then you must survive here.'
He looked around with distaste. 'It might be possible for you to undo what I have done. When I'm gone, the Plainsmen will obey you. With care and skill, you might be able to coax them back into their old ways. Listen carefully. The hostage children the Ochre hold, you must send back to their tribes. Some might try to continue the great hunts as I have taught them but these will quickly show themselves to be unsustainable. The heaveners near enough to the killing fields will soon be exhausted. The lesser saurians would have to be herded in such numbers that the procedure will be uncontrollable with a single tribe's resources. Hunger would soon make the barbarians revert to their traditional hunts. With the re-adoption of their ancient ways, the old would regain their ascendancy.'
'And the Commonwealth?'
'Give my body to the Wise. They'll not care about you once they have proof that I am dead.' Osidian shrugged. 'No doubt they'll make reprisals throughout the Earthsky but these will be measured; the Wise will not wish to damage the Plainsmen's breeding populations.'
'What about the saltcaves? The Plainsmen will not forget them and having this source of salt here, they're unlikely to want to serve in the legions.'
'Cut down the anchor baobabs. There are no other suitable replacement trees and the landslide has ensured that other anchor points cannot be built with the primitive skills the Plainsmen or the Marula have at their disposal.'
Carnelian frowned. This will destroy the Oracles and the Lower Reach Marula.'
'You are free to dream up another way to save your precious Plainsmen.'
Carnelian would search for other possibilities but was not confident he would find any. He was sure the sartlar would cut down the anchor baobabs at his command. He wondered what would happen to Kor and her people. A thought occurred to him.
'Neither the Oracles nor the Marula will allow this to be done.'
'Show the Marula the Ladder intact and they'll flee back to their lands below. I've made sure their commanders fell in battle. Without me, they are a rabble in a foreign land; a land they fear.' He smiled coldly. 'As for the Oracles, without me, they will be too weak to oppose you.'
'And if you do not die?'
Osidian looked away to where a copper sun hung molten in the sky. 'You had better hope I do. If I do not it will be because I shall be possessed by the God and then I will finish what I have begun.'
Carnelian saw how weary, how fragile Osidian appeared, but he was not feeling tender. 'I could kill you now.'
Osidian chuckled opening his arms wide. 'Do it. I would welcome the release from the canker of doubt that eats at me.'
Seeing in Osidian that which he had once loved, Carnelian turned away, melancholic as he watched the sun layering the sky with crimson.
Carnelian awoke in a red dawn and saw Osidian was already up. They made their way back to the knoll in silence. Before they reached it, Osidian veered towards the Marula camp around the Ladder baobabs. The black men rose, staring as the two Masters walked among them. Looking over the edge, Carnelian and Osidian saw that the Ladder had been brought more than half of the way up from the chasm floor. Osidian announced himself satisfied and they turned to face the Thunderfalls. The Isle of Flies lay sombre in the morning light. As they walked along the chasm edge towards it, Carnelian saw Morunasa and some other Oracles were waiting beneath the impaling post. He had no wish to go any further and took his leave of Osidian.
'Remember: the twelfth day,' Osidian said, in Quya.
Carnelian nodded. Osidian gazed at Morunasa and the Oracles as if they were his executioners. As Carnelian watched him walk towards them, he wondered if he would ever see him alive again.
Carnelian found Fern in the camp. As he had climbed the knoll, his heart had told him that his friend could not possibly have gone over to Osidian, but seeing him there before him, all Carnelian could see was his painted face.
'How did he force you to do that?' he said.
Fern frowned. 'All the commanders wear ash as a symbol of the Master to show they act in his name.'
'So he pressured you to lead one of his armies?'
'It was I who asked for a command.'
Carnelian shook his head, feeling bleak, empty. 'I would never have believed ...'
Fern narrowed his eyes. 'What, Master, what would you never have believed?1
There was still a part of Carnelian that refused to accept that Fern would betray the Plainsmen; betray their friendship. 'You are collaborating with him.'
Fern's eyes flamed. 'Is that what you think?'
Seeing Fern's anger, Carnelian became confused.
Fern leaned forward baring his teeth. 'Did it never occur to you that I became a commander to protect my people? What has our resistance to the Master achieved? By joining him, I have at least some chance of softening the effects of his conquests.'
Carnelian saw the truth of it and was ashamed.
Fern's lip curled. 'Who are you to accuse me when, after everything he has done, you chose to spend the night with him?'
Carnelian was outraged. His pride spoke: 'What business is that of yours?'
They glared at each other. Carnelian could not find a way out of his anger. Fearing what he might say next, Carnelian desired only to end their meeting. The Master has gone to the Isle of Flies. While he is gone, I am to rule in his place.'
'What then are your commands, Master?'
Carnelian cast around for some instruction. 'Just make sure that you keep order here in the camp.'
Fern's curt nod and his 'You shall be obeyed, Master' made Carnelian wince. Turning, he walked away.
That night, Carnelian took Poppy with him when he went to look for Fern's fire to apologize. When they found Fern, his cold greeting left Carnelian unwilling to speak. At least Fern had washed his face. A growl made them both turn to see Poppy scowling, her hands on her hips.
'You're both behaving like children.'
Carnelian and Fern stared at her, startled. They looked at each other. Carnelian tried a smile. 'I should have trusted you.'
Fern looked pained. 'And I had no right to —'
'We just talked,' Carnelian said, quickly.
'Hug each other,' Poppy commanded.
Awkwardly, grinning, they obeyed her. As they released each other, Carnelian felt embarrassed by the look in Fern's eyes. 'Aren't you going to offer us some food?'
Fern became flustered and Carnelian and Poppy exchanged a secret smile. She threw herself at the Plainsman so that he was forced to catch her. She buried her face in his neck.
A scent of roasting fernroot rose from the fire.
'Where's Ravan?' Poppy asked.
Carnelian had forgotten about him. 'He's not here?'
Fern looked grim. 'He remained in the Koppie.'
Carnelian raised his eyebrows. 'Have things grown worse between him and the Master?'
Fern grew angry. 'It's not my brother's fault. At every opportunity, the Master humiliates him.
Time and time again he has passed him over to give others a command. When I dared to intervene, the Master told me, curtly, that he needed my brother as an interpreter. I offered myself in that capacity but he turned me down, not that he needs one, so many of the army speak Vulgate. It's as if he is deliberately trying to grind him down.'
Carnelian gave Fern a suggestive look. Fern shook his head. 'I'd swear they've not been lovers for a long time.'
'You can tell?'
Fern looked Carnelian deep in the eyes, nodding. 'I can tell.'
Carnelian looked away. Another motive occurred to Carnelian that made him go cold. 'Was it Ravan himself who chose to return to the Koppie?'
'Can you blame him?'
'But the Master let him go?'
Fern's nod confirmed Carnelian's fear. He tried to conceal what he was feeling but saw how worried both of them had become.
'What is it?' Poppy asked, her eyes very round. Carnelian shook his head. 'Nothing,' he said, then busied himself with fishing a cooked root from the flames.
As the days passed no news came across the water from the Isle of Flies. Carnelian's dreams were haunted by his imaginings of what was being done to Osidian there. The conviction grew in him that Osidian was already dead. He became increasingly desperate to complete work on the Ladder and drove the sartlar harder than he had ever done before. He had told Fern everything and, in the time they spent together, they planned what they would do once Carnelian stood in Osidian's place.
One day, a pygmy appeared in the camp. It was Fern who brought him to Carnelian. The little man cowered then fell prostrate at his feet. Fern stooped to lift him but stayed his hand. The pygmy's back was smeared with blood. Crouching, then leaning closer, Carnelian saw disfiguring scars. He called for some water and, himself, carefully washed the brown skin as the little man shook with pain and fear. Carnelian sat back.
'What are you seeing?' Fern asked, his face screwed up in horror.
This man is a messenger sent to tell us the Master still lives.'
Fern frowned. 'But the pygmy has said nothing.' Carnelian pointed. 'It is these marks that speak.' Quyan glyphs cut into the little man's back read: 'My Father speaks to me.'
The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 Page 61
